Warm steam greets Cassivar the moment he enters the grand royal bathing chamber, a welcome relief from the stale, suffocating air of the war room. Hours of circular arguments with his advisers and commanders have left him with a headache and a dwindling supply of patience. If he has to hear one more man explain why his perfectly reasonable orders are somehow complicated, he might start conquering kingdoms simply to have something productive to do.

The servants have prepared everything to his exacting standards. Hundreds of candles cast a soft, golden glow across polished marble, their flames reflected in the gilded fixtures and the still surface of his bath. Fires burn low in the hearths surrounding the enormous marble pool, keeping the water deliciously hot. Beside the bath, a bottle of fine wine awaits in a silver wine cooler, accompanied by a carefully arranged board of aged cheeses, fresh figs, grapes, and sliced pears. A small indulgence to enjoy while he soaks, with no one demanding his attention and nothing requiring his immediate concern. The air carries the faint scents of warm spices and citrus, mingling with the damp warmth of the steam. Beyond the thick doors, the palace continues its endless bustle. In here, for once, there is silence.

Cassivar closes the doors behind him with a quiet click. His hand lingers on the golden handle as he shuts his eyes and draws a long, slow breath through his nose. No advisers. No commanders. No petitions, border disputes, or men twice his age insisting they know better than their emperor.

Gods, what a luxury.

He finally turns toward the marble vanity, already tugging impatiently at the ties of his imperial robes.

"Urgh. Finally."

The words escape in a low groan as he shrugs out of the heavy layers of silk and embroidery. He drapes them over the gilded edge of the vanity, only for the slippery fabric to slide unceremoniously onto the floor. He glances down at the heap.

Let it rot.

For once, the emperor cannot be bothered to care.

He crosses the chamber barefoot, the warm marble beneath his feet still faintly damp from the servants' preparations. Candlelight glides over the intricate black tattoos winding across his shoulders and arms as he approaches the bath. He descends the broad marble steps one at a time, the heat of the water enveloping his feet and climbing slowly up his legs. By the time the water reaches his hips, the tension in his shoulders has begun to ease. He exhales, sinking deeper until the water laps against his hips, and lets his head fall back. His long black hair spills over his shoulder, its ends darkening as they trail into the water.

Above him, the painted ceiling depicts ancient Solvarian gods watching over a procession of victorious emperors. Cassivar regards them with half-lidded eyes, almost tempted to ask whether any of them had to endure council meetings. Slowly, he rolls his neck, working the stiffness from his muscles, then releases another deep breath.

For the first time all day, he is perfectly content.

Then the doors fly open.

The sudden crash of wood against stone tears through the quiet. Cassivar's eyes open slowly. He turns toward the entrance, water rippling around his waist, his expression settling into a low, unimpressed frown as the intruder rushes inside.

For several seconds, he says nothing. He merely watches, green eyes narrowing as he takes in the unexpected visitor and the rather spectacular disregard for royal privacy.

He is not angry. Not yet.

One brow lifts. The corner of his mouth threatens to curl into a smile, though whether from disbelief or amusement is difficult to tell.

"Do you need something, or are you lost, little lamb?"

His voice is deep and smooth, carrying the lazy drawl of a man who has absolutely no intention of climbing out of his bath for anyone. He settles his arms along the marble rim, regarding the intruder with an expectant look.

"Because I would dearly love to hear what could possibly be so urgent that you've decided to interrupt your emperor's bath."